Chapter 122 119

Elena Snow.

A small training yard lay quiet in the afternoon stillness, broken only by the periodic sound of air being cut. Elena desperately needed rest. Too much had happened in too short a time. It felt like only recently the Falcon's Eye had shaken her certainty in herself and shown her she was not quite as exceptional as she had believed, and now the Eyrie was in the middle of a scandal involving poison and bodies.

Elena had come to understand fully that when a jailer knows a prisoner's greatest secret, things become very unpleasant for the prisoner. Setting aside the fact that she and her family were guests of a very dangerous man who could have her thrown through the Moon Door in a matter of minutes, Axel Arryn could neutralize her primary advantage: warging. As someone who could perceive magic, the Falcon's Eye could simply observe and shut down any use of her gift the moment she attempted it.

That had kept her in a state of sustained anxiety for some time. She had waited for Lord Arryn to act, and he had not, which only fed the paranoia further. A day passed, then two, and eventually she grew tired of trembling constantly. She settled herself down and began to breathe again. There were few real restrictions on what she could do: ride out if she liked, as long as she took an escort; read in the library, as long as she treated the books with care; practice with a sword, and which one would she prefer? Most of her favorite activities drew disapproving looks from the castle's inhabitants, but the word of Falcon's Eye was law here, and contradicting it was harmful to one's health.

Elena had not fully understood until recently how heavy the weight had been. The constant knife-edge existence in King's Landing, the reckless schemes, living surrounded by enemies, the responsibility for her younger siblings' lives, the worry for her family fighting the war, the refusal to accept herself and her kin being treated as bargaining chips and instruments of blackmail, the performance of being a proper southern lady. Coming to the Eyrie had not lifted all of those burdens, but some of them had simply ceased to exist. Even that small relief felt like a mountain lifted from her shoulders, and the ability to pursue her own interests for the first time in a very long time did wonders for her mood.

The poisoning ofLord Arryn's kinsman and closest supporter, Ser Robar Royce, had unsettled everyone. The look on the Falcon's Eye's face at the feast had communicated one thing clearly: there would be deaths, and many of them. Remembering the circumstances of her conversation with Lord Arryn and what he had caught her doing, namely poisoning Tywin, she tried to stay removed from events and keep out of sight. Library, family, training yard, rooms. The schedule was perhaps an unusual one for a young woman, but it suited her. And now, with the Martells gone and Ser Eyris running a tight ship throughout the castle, she was alone on the training ground, fencing.

The practiced movements required no conscious attention, which left her mind free to do what it always did: work through everything that was happening. The Arryn-Martell negotiations had collapsed and were unlikely to be resumed. That her enemies had failed to reach an alliance was a good thing. Why did she think of the Arryns, Targaryens, and Martells as enemies? Her father, once he gave his oath to someone, saw it through. King Stannis was competing for the Iron Throne. Rhaenys Targaryen wanted it as well. Elena, who was by now among the best-informed people in Westeros, understood that their clash was inevitable. Despite her father's assurances about Arryn's loyalty, she found it difficult to believe. The Falcon's Eye had done nothing concrete to help his friend. If the Vale raised the dragon's banner, no amount of friendship would stop northmen and Vale men from cutting each other's throats.

Apparently she was not alone in thinking this, and not alone in wanting House of Falcon to stay away from the dragons. Whoever had poisoned Royce, she owed them her thanks. And yet something in the whole situation nagged at her, a feeling she could not pin down, some instinct sending a signal she could not interpret.

One final lunge, and she finished her exercise sequence. She caught her breath and set the practice weapon back on the rack. And immediately heard soft, deliberate applause. She spun toward the sound. Axel Arryn was watching her with an expression she could not quite read.

Elena's mind moved quickly to the appropriate response: a flawless curtsy.

"Lord Arryn." Whatever her feelings about etiquette, it was useful when one had no idea what else to do. A beat later she realized she was wearing breeches, and the greeting had not come off especially well.

"Lady Elena." A light incline of his head. "You fence well."

"Nothing special. Just a few tricks," she said, before thinking about who she was saying it to. A moment later she caught herself.

"Better than nothing," he said, and his smile widened slightly. "Lady Elena, I am inviting you on a small excursion, to show you some of the beauty of my domain."

For a moment she was certain she had misheard him. But no, she had not. Courtiers had invited her on rides and walks before, of course, but those were courtiers. This was the Falcon's Eye. She could not picture him as a romantic in any sense of the word. The Old Gods knew she had only recently begun to accept that Axel Arryn might not be entirely cruel. That was most apparent when he was with Myrcella, the way he fussed over her like...

Gods. Even approaching this practically, a walk with her offered him nothing of use. She was not Sansa, whose hand in marriage could forge a lasting alliance with the Starks and Tullys. The Lord of the Eyrie held her life in his hands in the most literal sense, and he had no need to go to any of this trouble if all he wanted was to have her. She was beautiful, that was a fact, and as much as it revolted her, if he decided he wanted her he would have her. It was hard to credit him with nobility, not after what she had discovered in King's Landing.

"I would be delighted to accept your invitation, my lord." But what does he actually want?

"Splendid." His amiable tone set her teeth on edge in a way she could not begin to explain. "Once you have made yourself ready, go to the armory. Ser York runs it, he will fit you with armor suited to you and see to a proper sword. We leave tomorrow."

And without waiting for her response, the man simply left. She stood there, completely at a loss.

...

When a handsome knight invites a beautiful lady on an excursion to "show her the beauties of his domain," the image that comes to most people's minds involves a certain elevated, poetic romance: the two of them riding together through fields of wildflowers, the knight pointing out the local sights, the day ending with a meal against some breathtaking vista.

Elena, like any young woman, wanted her share of romance too. What she discovered was that Arryn had been, in his way, joking, and that his idea of a "romantic excursion" differed substantially from the conventional one. The man was a soldier through and through, and what he actually wanted was to use her abilities to finish off the mountain clansmen once and for all. He did not want a beautiful girl. He wanted a warg who could track down hiding clansmen.

She felt two things simultaneously: an irrational indignation that her beauty was being so thoroughly overlooked, a vanity the capital had thoroughly spoiled her into, and genuine anxiety. The anxiety had a single source: she had no experience whatsoever of fighting where the stakes were her life. Elena could spend hundreds of hours training, spar until she lost count, be hardened in her own way by her father's executions and the deaths of people she knew, having come close enough to dying to understand what it felt like, and having killed with her own hands in more than one way. But she had never once been in a real battle. In a fight, her warging was worth nothing, and only her skill with a blade would keep her alive.

Why had she agreed? The Falcon's Eye had not left her much of a choice, though she had at least managed to negotiate. She would help him, and he would not interfere with her work in helping the Starks during the war. Given that a good part of her father's and brother's successes had come from timely and accurate intelligence, the arrangement was, on balance, not a bad one. And at least no one was sending her into the front line.

Forty battle-hardened soldiers had assembled in the Eyrie's courtyard, and a fifteen-year-old girl among them looked more than a little out of place. Eyes moved to her and away, but no one asked what she was doing there. That, she thought, was what real discipline looked like.

"Everyone ready?" the Falcon's Eye asked, and continued without waiting. "Then let's go."

And with those words, her first military campaign began.